The older man grumbles when I see him and say “hi.” She always gives a polite greeting and smiles in exactly the same way. Marsik is usually with her. Walking around like he owns the damn place, like he’s a pimp and not a poodle.

When you peek inside their apartment it looks like anyone’s grandparents. Shelves full of glass dishes. Dark wood housing a TV that’s always on. Little crocheted nonsense on chairs. Flower patterns and velour.

Tonight he’s in the laundry room, asking me questions. I’m unclear what he’s asking of me. I try to answer. I keep asking and answering at the same time. Sifting through the clues.

He suddenly laughs either with me or at me then wanders off with a huff and a grunt.

And I’m still not entirely sure what just happened.

This particular Children’s Museum is about the coolest thing to happen in our little town of Brookings (population ~20,000) in a very long time. The building was renovated to maintain the major structural elements of the school and materials were recycled, etc. The interactive exhibits cover things unique to South Dakota and bridge all forms of art, science, agriculture, history, conservation…you name it. There is an outdoor area with even more fun stuff–when it’s not 20 below zero–including a gigantic T-Rex.

The museum opened in September 2010 and has had over 114,000 visitors so far. The population of the entire STATE is only 800,000. I’ve been there twice now on visits home and its popularity doesn’t surprise me at all. What I love most about it is that young families in this rural community can have a top-notch museum for their kids right at home, rather than having to drive several hours to Minneapolis, Omaha or Chicago. When I was a kid that was the nearest I remember experiencing anything like this.

The museum is supported by the local Larson Family Foundation for operating costs. However, what really makes a museum like this work is the traveling exhibits the museum brings in. Traveling exhibits deliver the latest ideas and updated activities for students, keeping the museum fresh and interesting for repeat visitors. Basically, it brings the world to these small-town kids who may not otherwise do much world traveling until they are much older.

The current exhibit is on the early modern painter Marc Chagall and it looks totally awesome. I don’t think I’d even heard of Chagall until I was in college. But these kids are going to know all about him while learning key concepts in art.

Chagall Exhibit

Since I do fundraising in my day-job, I’ve been writing a few small grants to help the museum find the rest of its funding for the 2 -3 traveling exhibits it will host each year. (About ~$100,000/year.) I’m also doing a grass-roots campaign among my high school classmates and those I still know from home.

It feels so good to know that something like this has happened in my home town and will be there for years to come. I’m including links below to the museum and an article that recently named it among the 25 Best New Places in the MidWest.

AND–because I am relentless and never stop–if you’d like to send a gift, you can snail mail your tax-deductible donation to:

Children’s Museum of South Dakota

We’re working on an online giving option, but until then you have to do it the small town way and use a stamp.

Children’s Museum of South Dakota

Top 25 New Places in the MidWest

An unidentified Los Angeles woman was distraught this morning when a routine doctor visit revealed her suspected 3-month “pregnancy” was actually the result of eating too much junk food and sitting in front of Facebook and MadMen re-runs all day.

“I was so certain I was pregnant,” states the mid-30s, single woman surrounded by her schnauzer and five cats. “I had all the symptoms. And look at this belly! I’d start doing exercise but get too exhausted to continue. I literally sat down in the middle of Runyon Canyon yesterday. I came straight home, put my feet up and ordered a pizza.”

It was the woman’s regular medical examiner who uncovered the misguided, self-diagnosis.

“Trust me, I’m a doctor. She hasn’t had sex in at least 18 months,” Dr. Eli Wakemen reports from his Mid-Wilshire office. “We can tell a whole lot just from poking around down there and seeing how badly a woman needs to shave her legs. She hasn’t gotten laid. She can’t be pregnant. She’s just fat. I see this [expletive] all the time.”

Since the pudgy diagnosis, the woman has decided she will no longer use morning sickness as an excuse to stay home from work or the gym. Long-term plans for the excess flesh continue.

“Oh, I’m gonna deal with it. But I think I’ll head to 7-11 for some ice cream first,” she sighs without moving. “I’m experiencing grief here. I need to recognize the loss of imagining to be pregnant and crazy-hormonal. After that I hope Macy’s will take back all the maternity crap I bought.”

Like seriously.  It’s very sweet that you are concerned for my welfare.  I understand that strange things come from orifices that don’t belong to you.  It can be a scary place down there–you touch it one way, this thing comes out… you touch it another… something else comes out.  It’s scary, and disconcerting–I get that.  I particularly get it if you’re a

14-year-old boy that hasn’t had much to do with these things.  Or a guy who remained celibate without a television or any female acquaintances.  It can be a confusing difficult world out there for people such as yourself.

So when faced with something seemingly unusual–I get it.  The first response is “my, you must be infected with some medical issue.  I totally know about these things, I googled it.”  And I see how the text might be the best way to communicate this information–I mean–why talk to them in person and deal with the very real possibility that you are just an idiot?  So much better to send a heartless and ignorant text.  So much better to make them feel teeny tiny–dirty, unclean, unwanted by impersonally texting–no greeting needed!

But seriously here.  You don’t tell people those things.  In a text.  You don’t assume to know anything about their “medical issues” without first TALKING to them.  You pretend for an instant that the world does not have a population of one–and you show some compassion.  You act human.  You be nice.  Because what you may have thought of as some infection (scary–I know–because it affects you!) really was just the varying smell and taste of you turning me on and getting me off.  That’s a good thing.  Don’t make it a bad thing and DON’T for heaven’s sake make me feel bad about it.

He smiles like we’re strangers but I know you…

We’re all seeking relevance. But it’s hard to live up to inflated standards that don’t exist. I fear we’re nearing a dilemma with suicide or maybe just apathy and gerbil-wheel running. As if we’re also too depressed to do anything about it.

The difference between you and me is that I fear my actions have no value. You know your actions mean nothing, but you don’t care. And you seek no remedy, no change, no afterlife.

Is it me or does it take more effort to feel nothing at all for another human being? Cramming everything into that small space just inside your pants must be challenging.

But you’re right, you do drive a nice car so…

While we’re at it, stop texting me and pretending it’s a meaningful conversation.

The play is a very dark comedy written by friend and playwright Jeremy Kehoe. We’ve had nothing but good times in rehearsals so far. We’re entering the final stretch before we open a week from tomorrow.

The play pokes fun at a futuristic America that basically hires a hit-man style squad to rid the population of “resource-sucking” elderly people. It’s all done with some good humor to poke fun of American logic in politics but it’s also pretty brutal. It’s most brutal in how we deal with personal relationships.

Working on the play has made me think mostly about growing older and love relationships. How the two are related. I know that I’m still relatively young…but I feel myself getting older. Lines on my face that didn’t used to be there. I still feel so young in my heart. But I see my friends and family aging around me.

There are times I think I want to be the gracefully aging person who seems to have their shit together. But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have too many questions. I keep making too many mistakes. And knowing all the answers seems impossibly…um, boring.

I heard a report that over 51% of the population is technically “single” now. And we are older and single. Moving toward death more alone or with less attachments and family. And so many people tell me they are okay with this. I think most of them just can’t find someone so they’ve decided to be okay with it. They concede.

I’ve been to my second funeral/memorial in 3 months this week. And I still don’t believe it. When we die the only thing that matters is family. Having one. Being part of one. How we loved and who loved us.

The two are related. Let’s not get all stupid about this just because we’re tired of trying.

Link to UNPLUG GRANDMA at Studio-Stage

You might feel as if you’re breaking apart.

You’re not.

You might believe the world is over and you will never have another chance like this ever again.

But you will.

No one is watching the scoreboard. There is no end zone. You are in charge of what happens and when.

There is no off season or final match that leads to a trophy and a feeling of content superiority.

You are the coach, the cheering sidelines and the key player that makes a difference.

If you tell yourself you’ve failed, if you repeatedly convince yourself you live in failure…

You miss the best foothold to climb up one more rung.

This is from a short play that was produced in NYC in 2007. I still love it and love the characters…hmmmm. I got the idea from an observation writing exercise I did on my lunch break while working in Santa Monica.

YOLANDA is a spunky, voluptuous black woman in her 20s-30s. She’s talking to some guy in a food court that she assumes is a wealthy, Hollywood-type because of how he’s dressed. Turns out…he’s mentally challenged. (Yeah, I know…there’s a joke in there somewhere.)

She wears a big gold belt over her outfit and has plenty of swagger.

YOLANDA

You like this belt? I got it from a cart they got in the mall. Everything looks so good on those carts but then you get close and some little Asian or Indian is doing the selling and starts yammering about the price of everything and I lose interest. I don’t know if it’s the person or the things they’re selling. They look so good from far away…exotic…but get in close and they ain’ so great. Or too expensive for what you get. What do ya think? Saw this belt and it’s the first thing where I didn’t lose interest. So hell, yeah, I bought it and what do’ya think I’m askin’ ya?

Yeah. You hate it. Yeah, that’s fine, white man. I know you look at me and think your shit. You think I got two paint cans rolling around back here, doncha? Well I like the way I look and I got plenty of men like the way I look. I’m going to Hollywood when I get off. Straight to Hollywood and meet up with my girls and we’re gonna do us some damage. Me and my gold belt gonna do some damage ‘cause it accentuates what I got. That’s what I’m about. You white boys don’t know what you’re doing. Look at you. You’re a mess. Big stinking movie producer/tv-show-guy…whatever. You wear shit you like. Amen, praise God. But you slobs all dress like a plastic-cup Ken doll. You got no PRIDE, Mr. Hollywood. I shouldn’t even call you that. You must work in a studio in the valley. You’re no Mr. Hollywood…you’re Mr. Burbank. Yeah. Mr. Burbank-Jay-Leno. Old people shit. What do you think of that?

Ah, you see… you like that. A little attitude. That’s right. That’s me all over. Big personality but all heart. Like my girl Oprah. I could do a show like that. Sit around and do that shit all the time. Help my girlfriends figure out shit on their lives, Give ‘em dieting tips, man tips. And hey…here’s something for you I got… No, I can’t. I’m shy.

You must have yourself one of those little pencil-stick white chicks for a wife. Some little blondie who shops at Anthropologie, huh? Flip-flops and a Gucci handbag? Yeah, man. Retail is for suckers. You got yourself a sucker for a wife. But that’s cool. I dig you…you gotta look good for your homies at the studio. Gotta have a little number for a wife or you lose respect. It’s a power-thing. I get that. I deal with that. I am a business woman. And if you let me…I can be a financial piece of good luck for you. We can be mutually beneficial. That sets me apart. I got talents, just like my girl Oprah, I can do all kinds of things. I can do the talk show, I can sing, write and direct…I boss at people all friggin’ day. I got talents…

Don’t tell me I messed it up. Don’t tell me I blew it. I am looking for you, mister. I knew this could happen, just like this I knew it. I knew this would happen and I’d meet some hot-shot like you and get discovered.

No. Fuck that…here’s what I got:

(singing/rapping)

Doncha call me nigger, halo boy. You mic-jigger.

Doncha rip my name and tie it from the plane. A done-trigger.

You ain’t got no Rights and no Home to go and swallow,

You just watch it, down-and-out man made uh hollow…

You need a sistah…with a wave in-a moves.

You need a sistah…with a spark in-a grooves.

She is an ocean….and she flows with the tide.

She is the water…she will drown what you hide.

You need a sistah…lawd, what the tides bring in.

You need a sistah…crawd, let the waves begin.

You still ain’ got nothin’? Damn.

I have spent some time chronicling dating in Los Angeles. And I’ve talked about some of the strange, silly and downright mean men I’ve met. (Please note my “nice guy” stories to balance the lot.)

Over the year I was on Match.com I also kept a running list of quotes–THINGS I ACTUALLY SAID TO PEOPLE I BARELY KNEW–just for fun and because, yes, I’m a nerd.

I’m pretty much still friends with all the men represented on the list below. Which proves how many wonderful people there are in the world, in spite of my lack of tact.

1. “Are those the cops? Don’t they know we’re good people and not doing gang stuff?”

2. “Thank you for looking like your picture. Well, at least one of them.”

3. “While you were pitching to HBO executives I was dancing in my underwear for drunk undergrads. That didn’t come out right.”

4. “But I haven’t showered today. Can you somehow be equally gross before we meet?”

5. “Sorry. I’m too educated to be that religious.”

6. “It’s not that I hate shopping, I hate looking for things, picking them out and then paying knowing I’ll likely want to return it all in two days. Yeah, I guess I hate shopping.”

7. “I’m not much of a golfer. And I’ve only wrecked one golf cart so far. Golfing may not be a good idea.”

8. “Wait. I think you have an eyelash on your…no, wait, that’s a hair growing. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

9. “It’s hard to really offend me. I often offend people I’ve just met first. You’ll either find it charming or want to smack me.”

10. “Something tells me either of us offering psychoanalysis on a first date is a pretty bad sign.”